There has always been this one door in the back of my mind that I am afraid of knocking on. It is grimy black, rigid and cold. The door knob is a mesmerizing gold, cold to the touch, but warm to the eyes. I sometimes approach the door and wonder what the skeletons I store inside would do to me if I confront them. This door hides all my worst secrets, memories; just painful experiences that I don’t want to face. These experiences leave me untouched and I believe that’s why they are squished inside that worn down door. I am afraid that those moments of time will alter who I have fought to become over these years. But sometimes.. I regret not allowing myself to face my fears. I feel like I will become this ball, like Jupiter, with swirling storms of emotion that I will not know how to handle. These frightful storms will take control of me and I will have no other choice than obey their commands. My fear of opening that door paralyzes me.
I foresee opening the dark door as my demise in this ending world. But if I concentrate enough on the warm door knob instead of the overwhelming black abyss door, maybe I can force myself to jump over the obstacle of fear and hurdle through the door. This door could be my way to a tranquil, happier life. I could accept my failures, pain, and tears for the better. These things can mold me into a perfect storm of grace and love and shower my glee upon everyone I encounter. I could begin to walk down streets without this cloud of gloom radiating from inside me and instead walk with my head held high without hesitation. Opening this door could be the path that I always speak about travelling on; about being successful, appreciated, honored, and most importantly… remembered.
This door is the stop in the road towards me accepting who I am and finding my identity in this big, cruel world. It could be my new birth into the world of never ending freedom. I believe I was born a sinner. I was born with the pain and burdens of my ancestors on my back. I was born in this hell to be part of a cycle of hate and obedience. I was not born with a tabula rasa like a wise man once said, but rather a list of tasks that I need to do before I close my eyes forever. Everyday that I wake up, I try to see the world as a new obstacle to tackle. I try to think of it as a new trail to adventure on, but as soon as I step outside, I breathe in the same recycled air, walk down the same road, eat the same food… everyday. The worst part of it all is the stares. I see the same eyes, same condescending looks, same hateful eyes judging me not for what I do in the world, but by the color of my skin.
Rebirth is something I dream of doing under the doting eyes of the Mighty Lord, but I too have obstacles to conquer. I am one of the many robots that judge others rather than looking past their painted shell to see people as humans. They could be going through the same bombardment of storms swirling inside their small, human bodies. They could be sitting outside their own abyss-like door, staring and wondering of the pros and cons of facing their worst fears. Or it could all be me. It could be me who sees the world as a failure and everyone in it. My rebirth would enlighten me of all the wrongful sins stacked on my beaten down shoulders. It would allow me to breath once again without restraint and see the beauty of things rather than point out their flaws. Rebirth is something I truly consider in my low times, but it is something I have to passionately desire to fully achieve the benefits of being a tabula rasa. A blank slate that does not look at the misfortunes of the past, but of the fortunes I could have in the future.
Bri Thompson is a sophomore majoring in Political Science with a minor in African-American Studies from Scranton, Pennsylvania.